


End of the Line

by actualkoschei



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Post-Credits Scene, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Brainwashing, Past Dehumanisation, Past Relationship(s), Post-Civil War, Red Room, civil war spoilers, mentions of torture, physical illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-12
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-07 22:13:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 6,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6827173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/pseuds/actualkoschei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six months after the events of Civil War, Wakandan medical science brings news about the effects of repeated cryo-freezing to Steve, forcing him to remove Bucky from stasis and deal with the consequences of his Hydra conditioning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“The cryostasis is killing him.” T'Challa said it flatly, like a mere fact of life, which, in a way, it was.

And yet it hit Steve like a knife in his chest, no, worse than that. He had been stabbed before. It was a sharp, clean pain, not a desperate spreading ache like this. “W-what?” His voice cracked shamefully.

“Your friend. Sargent Barnes. The repeated freezings in cryostasis are causing damage to his heart and blood pressure, and the serum cannot repair them while he is frozen.” Regret coloured T'Challa's voice then, leaving behind the matter of fact tone he had used to deliver the news.

“Then take him out! I don't care about his programming, take him out, and I'll take care of him! We can't let him die, Your Highness!” Steve's hands were shaking, the words tearing themselves out of him painfully.

“He is still a danger. Hydra...”

“Forgot Hydra! He knew who he was, T'Challa! He's still Bucky! He doesn't deserve to die like this!

“He is your friend, Captain. You must not allow that to cloud your judgement.”

“He is. He's...” Steve's eyes burned, the image of Peggy's face flashing behind his eyes, and his mother, the Howling Commandos... “God, he's all I have left!”

T'Challa laid a hand gently on Steve's shoulder. “I know. I know that you were very close. Like brothers, many have said.”  
  
Steve heaved a sob, fighting back tears. “The Avengers were like my family. I lost them over the Sokovia Accords. I can't lose him too. Please.”

“I have already gone above and beyond my duty for you and your friend. And now you ask me to do more?” T'Challa shook his head. “Nevertheless, I will. On some conditions. You are responsible for him. His actions will be on your head. You may only leave Wakanda together, and with my permission. And if he transgresses too terribly, I will put him back in cryostasis, for the sake of my country.”

Steve nodded, breath caught tight in his chest, a knot he could not untie, echoing a vague memory of the feeling of asthma. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

T'Challa inclines his head. “Follow me, Captain. You will be needed there when he wakes up.”

“I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.” Steve assured him, following him down to the lab.

There was frost over Bucky's face, clinging to the walls of his cryo-pod, almost hiding his sleeping face from view. Steve stood over him for a moment, looking for the cold grey cling of near-death there, that he had seen on soldiers before. But it was not there. His cheeks were pale, colourless from cold, but white-peach, not grey. His features looked soft, the tension he had in waking gone. Almost peaceful. Steve's heart clenched.

The nurses were busying themselves bringing him out of cryostasis, but all Steve had eyes for was Bucky.  

The cryo-pod took a long time to open, creaking dangerously as it did. Bucky did not seem disturbed, however, still lying back dangerously still, still as a wax statue, a look of frozen vague serenity on his face. Nothing much, Steve thought, to distinguish him here from his own full-length projected picture in the Smithsonian, nothing but the long hair and battered clothing and stump of his missing arm. The straps around his remaining arm and thighs and chest looked painful tight, leather darkened and stiffened from condensation and the Winter Soldier pulling against it. Too tight, cutting into flesh. Bile stung the back of Steve’s throat. Bucky must have been forced into those straps in the past, he could see. Held down, strapped down, screaming, fighting…

The cryo-pod was open then, properly. Cold vapour hissed out, shrouding Steve, who stood to close, in a fleeting shroud of ice. Bucky sagged forward, head falling against his chest, only those same cruel straps stopping him from flopping forward face-first onto the ground like the limp deadweight he was. He showed no sign of wakefulness, still and cold, muscles lax.

Steve stepped forward, bent over him, carefully undoing the stiff, burning-cold buckles on the straps. As soon as he unfastened the chest strap, Bucky slid limply from the chair into his arms.

“Hey, Buck.” Steve whispered, voice measured and soft. “I’ve got you. You’re alright now.” He ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair, damp with cool water as the frost from the chamber melts into it. Underneath the chill, he could feel the warmth of Bucky’s skin, a soothing reminder that he still lived.

“Can you put him into the medical chair, Captain?” T’Challa asked, voice gentle, not wanting to intrude upon this tender moment. “We need to run some tests. Check his vital functions.”

“Just a minute, Your Highness. Let him wake up first. Let him know where he is, before you start poking him with needles.” He stroked Bucky’s fast-warming cheek. “Wake up, Buck. It’s me, Steve.”

In his arms, Bucky stirred. The barest ghost of a movement, a flutter of an eyelid, clenching of a muscle, but Steve felt it, and his heart leapt. The urge to bend down and kiss Bucky’s bloodless lips, make him feel Steve’s warmth and his presence, wake him up gently, rose in him, but he forced it down. After all that had happened in the last 70 years, it was not his place to be taking liberties with Bucky’s unconscious body, regardless of what they might have been to each other in the 1940s. Time would tell if Bucky still wanted their relationship, if he still yearned with the same horrible consuming ache Steve did.

Bucky was definitely waking up then, twisting in Steve’s arms, although his eyes still had not opened. He let out a soft sound of protest, somewhere between a moan and a whine. Then he muttered something in Russian, and his grey eyes opened. They fixed on Steve’s face, and a look of abject terror clenched Bucky’s features. He reeled back for a moment, and then brought his fist up to punch Steve squarely in the jaw. 


	2. Chapter 2

Steve reeled back in shock. “Buck...” His jaw felt achy and loose, clicking as he spoke. Dislocated, he thought, and knocked it back into place with a sharp grunt. “Bucky. Sargent Barnes. Calm down, please, okay?” He asked gently. “You're safe.”

Bucky blinked, his eyes drifting in and out of focus, his mouth opening and closing. “Stevie?” He managed eventually. “Where... where am I?”

“Safe.” Steve repeated. “What do you remember?”

“We fought. Against Tony Stark. And in Siberia. And then... I went into reset.”

“Yes.” Steve nodded, a small smile gracing his features.

“I asked you to put me under.” Bucky's eyes narrow. “Why... why did you wake me up? Do we need to fight again?”

“No. Not yet. There was...” Steve bit his tongue. “A problem with the cryo-pod. It's on its last legs. And it's the only one we've got. You're gonna have to stay out of it for a while. But you're here in Wakanda, you're safe, we won't let you hurt anybody, or anybody hurt you.”

Bucky clutched at Steve's forearm painfully hard, his remaining flesh and blood hand holding almost the strength his metal one used to. “Promise me.” He rasped. “I don't want to hurt anyone. Not if they don't deserve it. Not ever again. Promise you'll stop me.”

Steve bit down on his lip, cradling Bucky in his arms. He knew what his old friend might by stop him. “I promise.” He said, at length.

Bucky turned his head against Steve's chest, burying his face in his soft cotton shirt. “I don't feel right.”

“I know.” Steve soothed, heart clenching with worry.  “They just have to run some tests on you here, okay? Not like Hydra ones, I promise. I’ll be here.”

Bucky looked at him hard and intense. “You’d better.”

Steve sighed, and lifted Bucky into the chair. He could see him stiffen, frightened, or anticipating pain, or both. Bucky clenched his fingers down on Steve’s hand, painful hard, making the bones crunch. His teeth were clenched.

The Wakandan nurse’s hands were gentle, however, touch soft and light, and it did not take her long to ease the needle into Bucky’s vein. He winced, expecting the tearing pain that came with blood draws and IVs back in Siberia, but there was only a quick pinch, and then the needle filling smoothly with dark red blood.

“What are you going to do with that?” Steve asked, voicing the concerns in Bucky’s head. He had wanted to ask himself, but his tongue felt hungry. He had never been allowed to speak to the Hydra doctors.

“Just some screening for common diseases.” She replied in a calm voice. “And to test his nutrient and iron levels.” She labelled the vial of blood and set is aside again, coming around to push Bucky’s shirt up and press a stethoscope to his chest.

Bucky stared out the window, ignoring the nurses checking him over. It was green and foggy, thick with vegetation. Streaks of rain marked the windows. _Beautiful_ , he thought. Not like any place he had ever been before. Brooklyn had been crowded, dirty, everyone pressed together, their apartment so small that he and Steve could push their beds against opposite walls and still hold hands across the gap, until they pushed their beds together to lie in each other’s arms at night, spinning a story to their neighbours about how Steve got so cold at night that they had to. Siberia was bleak, all hard sharp flat angles in white and grey and black, aching cold seeping into his bones and harsh voices shouting him out of sleep. He shuddered, and clutched at Steve. Whether it was emotion that made him tremble, or residual cold from the cryostasis, he did not know.

“Bucky?” Steve’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away.

Bucky shook himself out of his daze. “Yeah, Stevie? ‘S matter?”

“They’re done with you. You can keep sitting in the medical chair if you want, I guess. Or you could come up to my room. Well, I guess it’s our room now, unless you want one of your own. Do you want one of your own?”

“No!” Bucky said quickly. “I wanna stay with you! I can do that, right?”

“Course you can.” Steve smiled at him. “Royal palace is a big place. I… we… we’ve got a bedroom, well it’s not really a bedroom, it’s got a bed and a couch and a TV, so we’ve got that and a bathroom to ourselves.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. “Wow.”

Steve nodded. “Come on, then.”

It took Bucky a few seconds to get to his feet, and when he did, a wave of nausea overwhelmed him, and he crumbled to his knees, heaving, with a hand over his mouth.

“Jesus.” Steve dropped to his knees beside Bucky, putting an arm around his shoulders. “You okay?”

Bucky shook his head. “Will be in a minute, though. Always feel like this after cryo. ‘S why they wouldn’t let me eat solid food once they started freezing me before missions. Less to throw up.”

Steve shook his head again, rubbing Bucky’s back soothingly. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

He let Bucky lean on him in the elevator ride and the walk along the hallways to Steve’s room.

His room was tidied with military precision, bed made sharply and clothes folded into the dressers, his small collection of books and art materials stacked on the shelves above the bed. The bedcover was blue, not the colour of Captain America’s uniform, but a lighter soft shade, bordering on periwinkle or grey. It felt soft and plush when Bucky lay down on it. He was asleep in minutes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of a sexual, although not romantic, relationship between Steve and Sam Wilson occur in this chapter.

Bucky woke up with a pounding head and a dry mouth that tasted like metal and the rotting flavour of leftover cryofluid. The bed he was in did not feel like the mattress in his apartment. Too big and soft, and there was a warm impression beside him, showing that someone else had just vacated their space lying beside him. He sat up, frowning in confusion, and taking in the room around him. It was dusk, the room bathed in blue-purple light, the sky above the jungle streaked with pink and orange.

 

Familiarity returned to him around the same time as Steve came through the door, carrying two large bowls. He switched on the light, brightening the room, and smiling when he saw Bucky sitting up. “Hungry? Clint’s trying to teach Wanda to cook. We share a kitchen, all of us ex-Avengers living on this wing. They made lentil stew tonight.”

 

Bucky inhaled deeply. “I can smell it. Yes, I want some.”

 

“Good.” Steve sits beside him, propping up some pillows for them to lean on, and hands him a bowl. “Been a while since you ate? Before cryo, I mean.”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I guess. I can’t remember how to cook much. I know I used to be able to. I would eat every couple of days in Bucharest. Fruit, bread, instant meals.”

 

Steve’s forehead creased in concern. “Buck, that’s not enough. You gotta eat properly, right?”

 

“Right.” He smirked. “I’ll eat if you feed me. You gonna cook for me, Stevie?”

 

“Yeah, sure, if that’s what it takes.” Steve smiled back. “Gonna do whatever to look after you. Anything you need.”

 

Bucky’s eyes went wide, confusion clear in them. “Why? Why would you do that?”

 

“Hey.” Steve put an arm around Bucky, pulling him into his side. “Cause I care about you.”

 

“I don’t deserve that.” Bucky said quietly, almost too quite to be heard. “Not after what I’ve done.”

 

“Like hell you don’t. It’s not your fault.” Steve held him close. “I hate that they did this to you. I hate that you think you’re to blame for this.”

 

Bucky let out a soft sob, hiding his face against Steve’s shoulder. “You mean it? You really don’t think it was my fault?”

 

“Not one bit. I know you. I’ve known you since we were kids. I know you wouldn’t do something like that if you had a choice.”

 

“I remember doing it, though. I couldn’t stop myself from doing it.”

 

“I know. That’s how mind control works. But if you wanted to stop yourself, then you didn’t want to do it, right? You couldn’t stop, so you didn’t have a choice.”

 

“It almost sounds true when I hear it in your voice, you know.”

 

“It is. Eat your stew.” Steve told him, kind but firm.

 

Bucky took a bite of it, and closed his eyes, savouring the taste. The last time he had a proper hot meal must have been in the 1940s, he thought. And the stew was good, rich and thick and full of warm spices. The next bite he took was bigger, barely able to swallow before spooning more into his mouth.

 

Steve chuckled, watching him eagerly. “See? You were hungry. And this was one of their good nights. Some of their kitchen experiments aren’t half this successful.”

 

“It’s good.” Bucky agreed, nestling against Steve. “Wanda… the little one, right? The girl in the red coat?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s her.”

 

“Where did she come from?” Bucky asking, sounding curious.

 

“Sokovia. She was…” Steve hesitated. “A Hydra experiment. Her and her brother. Brought out her powers from a latent mutant gene.”

 

“Oh.” Bucky winced. “Poor kid. She looks so young, too. Where’s the brother?”

 

The question felt like a knife, sharp pain lancing through Steve’s chest. “Dead.”

 

“Shit.” Bucky looked pale and pained. “What about that guy Sam? Are you and him… you know, together? Cause the way he looks at you…” His voice was edged with jealousy.

 

“No!” Steve assured. “Well, not really. Not _together_ together. We slept together a couple times. That’s it. Just friends. Friends with benefits.”

 

“So he’s not… not your boyfriend, not _with_ you? Even though he’s touched you like that?”

 

“No. It was just taking care of each other.” Steve brushed a hand over Bucky’s cheek. “Hey. Don’t look at me like that.”

 

“Sorry. I just…”

 

“What is it, Buck? Is something the matter?”

 

“It’s just… I miss being like that with you.” The words came out in a hurry. “I’m sorry, Stevie, I shouldn’t be, but I’m damn jealous of him!”

 

Steve stopped for a moment, his bright blue eyes wide, and took a long, shuddering breath in, and then out again. “You’re right.” He finally said, soft and controlled. “You shouldn’t be. Because you don’t need to be. Because I’m yours. Always have been. Just say you want it, and we can be like that again.”

 

Then it was Bucky’s turn to stare, wet-eyed and trembling. He lifted his hand, the one remaining one, to touch Steve’s cheek. And then he leaned forward, eyes fluttering closely, and pressed their lips together in a hot, damp kiss.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sex talk in this chapter.

Steve tensed for a moment, shocked. “Buck? You sure you want this?”

 

“Don't want it, Stevie.” Bucky clutched at Steve's back, hand pulling at his shirt. “Need it. Need you.”

 

“Alright, Bucky.” Steve stroked his back, and leant down to kiss him again, deep and gentle. “Just kisses for now, though, or cuddling. Not going any further than that while you're still tired and sick and confused.”

 

Bucky whined in protest, and Steve pressed a finger across his lips to hush him. “Gotta take care of you, Buck. I know you want me. You make me hot as hell, too. But now isn't the time.”

 

“Fine. But when I get better. Then we will, right?”  
  


Steve grinned wickedly. “Then I'll lay on my back and let you pound me through the mattress, yeah.”

 

“How do you know I don't want you on top, then?”  
  
“I don't. I just know Sam's a bottom, and I miss feeling you in me.”

 

Bucky ran his hand up over Steve's chest, his eyes dark, gaze hot and heavy. “You drive me crazy, Stevie. You've always known how.”

  
Steve leant in for another kiss, but was interrupted by a knock at the door, and Clint's voice calling out to them. “Are you two decent?”

  
Steve got up with a regretful sigh, giving Bucky a quick peck on the lips. He was still fully clothed, at least, in a pale salmon pink cotton T-shirt and black sweatpants.

 

“Sorry if I'm interrupting something.” Clint told him when he saw Steve, giving him a knowing look. “But I just got a call from New York. T'Challa notified our old team about Bucky waking up. Well, most of them. Don't know about Tony. Anyway. Tasha and Sharon are coming here.”

 

Steve nodded. “Be good to see them. How are they?” He asked, sympathetic. “Did they sound alright?”  
  
“I only spoke to Tasha. She sounded good. Strong, happy, a bit suspicious. Our typical Tasha.”

 

“Good.” Steve smiled. “Did you want to come in?” He looked back at the bed, to see Bucky buried under the covers in a curled-up lump.

 

Clint nodded at the bed, following Steve's gaze. “Doesn't look like he'd welcome me, does it? Besides, I got kids to put to bed. See you at breakfast, Steve.”

 

Steve nodded. “Goodnight, Clint. Tell the kids and Laura goodnight, too.”

 

With Clint gone, Steve climbed back into bed, throwing himself halfway over Bucky. “Don't sulk at Clint, babe.” Steve admonished.  
  


Bucky huffed softly. “He interrupted.”

 

“I know.” Steve slid a hand under Bucky's chin to lift his face and kiss him. “I'm sorry. It's just how it works around here. At least he knocked.”

 

“He shouldn't have.” Bucky grumbled. “I want him to know. Want them all to know. They don't know 'bout us. We got lost in history. I went to the Smithsonian, you know. Looked at our exhibit. Called me your comrade-in-arms. Your childhood friend. Your _sidekick_.” He spit the word out like it tasted bitter. “Not a word about what we really were. _Lovers_ , Steve! I loved you! I still do!”

 

“I know, Buck. I know.” Steve pulled him close, holding him tight in his bulky arms. “I love you too. Always have, always will. And if you want, we'll tell the world. Not now. Not yet. People can't know where you are, okay? But after that. Once we've resolved that. Then I'll tell them. Go on live TV and give them an interview. Tell them about how we used to dance at Gloria's, and cuddle up together during the cold winter nights when the heating was broken. How I made love to you in the camp after we rescued you from Hydra,” he saw Bucky tense at the name, and kissed his forehead reassuringly, “while Dugan and Morita stood guard to make sure nobody caught us. Is that what you want, Bucky?”

 

“They don't have to know all the details.” Bucky conceded. “But it would be nice for them to know what we were. What we are. That Captain America's a queer.”

 

Steve huffed a laugh. “Ain't called that no more. Not queer, or Captain America. We got new words now, and I dropped the shield in Siberia.”

 

“You're still my Captain.” Bucky wound himself around Steve, resting his head on his chest. “And my boy.”

 

Steve reached up to stroke his hair gently, clumped strands slipping through his fingers. “Love you.” He whispered. The words tasted like honey. He felt he could never save it enough.

 

“You're so warm.” Bucky said in reply, dreaming, distant. “I was always cold. Since...” He squeezed his eyes closed, trembling painfully. “Since I fell. I was so cold then. I couldn't get warm. I never got warm. I'm still cold, Stevie. Warm me up, please.”

 

Steve held him closer, pulling the blankets up over them both. “It's okay, Buck. Wakanda's tropical. You'll warm up soon.” He knew it was likely a fair amount of the cold Bucky was experiencing was psychosomatic, but after being in and out of cryostasis and snow and steel bases and the Siberian steppe, Steve could hardly find any reason to begrudge him some warmth. “If you stay cold, we'll buy you warm clothes anyway. You need warm clothes. You can't live in my shirts and your own leathers forever.” He had given Bucky some clothes to change into after his nap, just a pair of boxers and pyjama pants and a loose long-sleeved shirt, changed from a T-shirt when Steve saw Bucky shivering.

 

“I like your clothes. They're soft. Good fabric.”  
  
“Yeah. I know. We'll get you some like them, but in your size.”

 

“I don't have anything.” Bucky blinked. “I want things of my own.”

 

“Good. You can have them. Do you want us to get you a new arm, by the way? You seemed a little off-balance.”

 

“Sure.” Bucky seemed surprised by the offer. “Maybe one without such good touch and pain receptors this time, in case it gets damaged again?”

 

Steve froze, his eyes going wide. “You had... you had pain receptors in your arm? You could feel what happened to it?”

 

“Well, yeah.”

 

“Oh, I'm going to kill Stark.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Steve woke up the next morning with a mouthful of Bucky’s hair. He spat it out, and then sat up, blearily looking over his bed partner. Bucky was still sound asleep, long hair falling across his face, facing Steve, his lips slightly parted. He looked young, far too young for someone who was in his thirties physically, and almost a hundred chronologically. Steve ran a hand over Bucky’s face, stroking the line of his jaw, his stubbled cheek. “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

 

There was noise in the corridor, Wanda talking to Laura, and Nathan’s morning crying calming as he was fed. It sounded like family, Steve thought, and he smiled.

 

Bucky was sighing now, stirring in his sleep. That, at least, was familiar to Steve. The soundtrack of every morning from 1937 until 1944 had been Bucky complaining about having to get up and ready for work, dragging himself from Steve’s clinging warmth with a litany of moans and grumbles.

 

“Good morning.” Steve said again. “I think Clint’s made coffee.”

 

That was enough to make Bucky crack open one eye and lift his head. “Coffee.” He echoed, sounding pleased.

 

“I’ll get you some. What do you want in it? Creamer? Sugar?”

 

“I want it black.”

 

“You don’t like black coffee. Never have. Used to have to use my Captain America authority to get you sugar for it during the war. I’ll bring you sugar on the side, then you can decide if you want it.”

 

Bucky nodded. “You know me better than I do. That’s… that’s scary, Steve.”

 

“I know.” Steve rubbed Bucky’s shoulder, the one with the black cap where his metal arm used to connect. “I should let you figure these things out on your own. I’ll bring you the black coffee. But I’ll bring you sweetener too.” He kissed the corner of Bucky’s mouth, and got up to go to the kitchen.

 

Wanda was sitting up at the kitchen bench, her long thin legs drawn up to her chest, left bare by her short nightshirt, flannel and buttoned. She balanced a mug of tea between her bony knees. There was a shimmer of red above her cup, and the spoon moved in even circles without her touching it.

 

“Morning.” Steve nodded to her, moving towards the coffee pot on the stove.

 

“How is he?” Wanda asked. There was sympathy in her voice. Surprising, Steve thought, or maybe not. She understood. Hydra’s manipulation and cruelty was familiar to her.

 

“Better than I expected. Knows who he is. Lucid. Eating and drinking. Even smiled.” _And kissed me_ , he thought, but did not say it aloud. That moment was not for anyone else’s ears, not for their minds or hearts. It was his. As thrilling as his first kiss in an empty, closed dance hall in 1939, the week after war broke out in Europe, broken lock hanging loose where Bucky had opened it with a hairpin purloined from a dance partner he would never see again.

 

Wanda smiled, though, wicked, knowing, as if she could see what he was thinking. “I will make him a cake.” She said, instead of what wicked insinuation Steve had imagined would be coming. “What does he like?”

 

“We don’t know yet.” Steve admitted. “Fruit, probably. And chocolate. Everybody likes chocolate, right?”

 

  
“Everyone.” Wanda echoed. “Chocolate cake, then. With jam in it.”

  
“Sounds wonderful.” Steve stirred a packet of creamer into his coffee, grabbing two more and two sugar packets for Bucky, and returned to his room with the two mugs of coffee.

 

Bucky was sitting up on the bed, arms around his knees, and his face buried into them. His shoulders trembled, not the heaving that came with crying, but simply shaking.

 

Steve set down the coffee mugs carefully. “Buck? You alright?”

 

“My chest hurts.” His voice was muffled. “I think I am… malfunctioning in some way.”

 

“Think you’re a bit sick.” Steve sat down beside him, wrapping him in his arms. “That’s why we took you out of cryo. The repeated freezings were hurting you. But you should get better now.” He did not know if the damage could be undone. T’Challa and the nurses had not told him. But Bucky needed comfort, he rationalised, not full disclosure.

 

Bucky leant back into Steve’s embrace. “Can you fix me?” He asked quietly.

 

“Not immediately.” Steve held him closer. “But you’re going to get better. And we’re all going to help you.”

 

“They knew it hurt.” Bucky closed his eyes. “Every time they brought me out, they knew it hurt. They didn’t care. Laughed at me. Weapons don’t deserve painkillers. Weapons don’t deserve comfort. They just need to be functional.” He was shaking.

 

“I’ll get you painkillers if you need them.” Steve assured him. “It’s not a question of who you are. Nobody deserves to be in pain. Especially not you. You’ve had enough of that.”


	6. Chapter 6

Bucky whined softly, leaning into Steve. “You’re so good. How are you so good? Why?”

 

“Guess maybe I was just born this way.” Steve twined a piece of Bucky’s hair around his finger. “What do you want to do today? We’ve got time off. Free time. Not a lot of work for decommissioned ex-Avengers. So you pick. We can stay in bed all day, if that’s what you want. Or watch a movie. Or take a walk down to the hot springs.”  
  
Bucky looked curious. “There’s a movie theatre here?” He sounded as though he had not expected that. There were no such luxuries in Hydra bases.

 

“Sure, there’s a couple in town. But there’s a room with a TV down the hall, too. Between Clint and Sam we’ve got quite a movie collection.”

 

“Movies. In your house.” Bucky looked awestruck. “Palace, I guess. Whatever this place is. Anyway. I love the future.”

 

“Yeah. Movies, TV shows, all whenever you want them. In colour, too. Radio broadcasts have gone downhill, though.” Steve mused.

 

Bucky looked contemplative. “I remember movies. Cartoons. We used to go watch them in the theatres. Save up a bit of money for a treat. You liked it better than dancing, right?”

 

“I did. It was quieter. Darker. The girls didn’t turn me down. I could hold your hand in the back of the theatre.” His voice softened.

 

“I want to watch a movie.” Bucky said decisively, those words making up his mind.

  
“Do you?” Steve teased. “Or do you want to cuddle with me on the TV room couch?”

 

“Both? We can do both, right?”   
  
“Of course we can.” Steve softened again. There was a pleading tone to Bucky’s voice, as though he had not grasped the spirit of the teasing, as though he really thought Steve was being cruel, questioning his motives. “I said anything you wanted, didn’t I?”

 

Bucky bit his lip. “You did, but…” ‘

 

“But you thought I didn’t mean it? That it was conditional? That I would mock you if you chose the wrong thing?”  


Bucky looked miserable, and nodded.

 

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve soothed. “I really did mean it. I get that you haven’t had much choice for a while.”  


“None.” His voice was small. “Not ever.”

 

“I know.” Steve disentangled himself from the blankets to stand up, grabbing Bucky’s hand and pulling him with him. “Movie time.”

 

He led Bucky down the hall to the TV room, a quiet dark sitting room with a wide squishy couch and several armchairs arranged facing the large TV screen. There was a cabinet full of DVDs under the TV, some bought and some burnt from downloads. “What do you want to watch?”

 

Bucky sat on the edge of the couch, nervous and tense, trembling slightly. “I don’t know. Can… can you choose?” There was a desperate edge to his voice.

 

“Of course, if you want me to.” Steve starting leafing through the DVDs, on his knees in front of the cabinet. He pulled out a science fiction romance, pulpy, with a pink and yellow cover and soft 60s filming style. One of Wanda’s, a gift for her from one of T’Challa’s young female bodyguards, with whom she had struck up a friendship.

 

Steve slotted the DVD in, and took his place beside Bucky on the couch. Bucky seemed transfixed as the movie starting, staring fixatedly. “Like it, Buck?” Steve asked softly.

 

“I like the colour. And I like that girl.” He pointed at the screen, not the main character, an aristocrat and cousin to the Wakandan royal family, but her friend, the pretty Wakandan street girl who had risen up through her smarts to join the space military. “She’d be better than the guy, don’t you think?”

 

“Course I do.” Steve grinned, and ran his hand through Bucky’s hair, where the other man’s head lay in his lap. “But we can’t have everything, right?”

 

“I got you.” He clutched firmly at Steve’s arm. “That’s enough for me.”

 

“Really?” Steve ran a finger over the sharp line of Bucky’s jaw. “I love you, you know.”  
  
“I know.” He frowned, creases appearing between his eyebrows. “It’s…allowed now, isn’t it? Two men, together.”

 

“Yeah. In most places at least. America and Wakanda, yeah, it’s allowed. Some people think it shouldn’t be.” A note of bitterness entered his voice. “But it’s not illegal, and most people are okay with it.”

 

Bucky smiled. “You know I love you too, right? You know I want to be with you? In front of everyone?”  
  
“Fine. Maybe I’ll be showier with you, then. Let everyone see."  
  
"Yes. Yes, please." 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mild sexual content in this chapter.

Steve trailed his fingers over Bucky’s mouth, watching him sleep. The last scenes of the movie, the resolution, were playing in the background, but neither of them payed attention. Bucky had fallen limp in Steve’s lap about twenty minutes prior, worrying him for a minute, before he realised he was only sleeping. Steve was watching him now, the movements of him, his chest rising and falling, tiny micro-expressions crossing his face, all of that far more enthralling than any movie could be.

 

Under his soft touch, Bucky started to stir, whimpering painfully. He was not awake, his eyes did not open, but whatever as troubling him was getting worse, making him twitch and twist.

 

“Buck?” Steve slid an arm around behind Bucky’s neck to support him. “Hey, Bucky. Time to wake up.”

 

Bucky’s eyes flew open, and he let out a sob. “Steve?” He was trembling.

 

“Yeah, baby? I’m here. It was just a dream.” He soothed.

 

“I’m cold.” Bucky said softly. “I fell, Stevie. I was so cold.”

 

“I know, Buck.” Steve’s chest spasmed with pain at the thought. “I didn’t catch you. I wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry. Let’s get you warmed up, okay?”

 

“Not your fault.” Bucky managed, following Steve to his feet and down the hall. “Where are we going?”

 

“Hot springs. Nice warm soak. You won’t feel cold, and there’s nothing more relaxing.”

 

The hot springs were outside the palace, through a bit of the near garden. Thick grasses and plants, all green and misty and humid, surrounded them. Bucky looked around in awe. He could not remember a time when he had ever seen so much green and life at once. The hot springs themselves were ringed by a cluster of large rocks, shaped within the spring into structures like seats. The water bubbled up hot and faintly scented of minerals.

  
Bucky dipped his hand awkwardly in the water, and gasped at its warmth. “Should I take my clothes off?” He asked, suddenly stiff.

 

“Unless you want to get them wet, yes.” Steve started stripping off himself. Bucky felt heat rise in his face as he watched. There were new scars on Steve, ones that Bucky had not seen before, but there were things that were the same. Even back then, Bucky had never been able to get used to Steve’s new body. He still imagined his nakedness as delicate, birdlike and slender, pale skin flushed dark and his bony chest heaving. That had been beautiful. But now he was muscular, golden and shining, and Bucky could not look away.

 

Steve smiled down at him, gloriously naked. “Come on, Buck. You can look all you want, but let’s get you out of your clothes.”

 

Bucky licked his lips. “Help me out of them.” His voice was low.

 

Steve’s hands skimmed up over Bucky’s side, feeling the breath moving under his skin as he lifted his shirt up and over his head. “Buck…” He breathed, and then bent to kiss him hard.

  
“Stevie… so pretty…” He reached up to touch his cheek. “Love you.”

 

“I love you too.” He whispered, and ran his hand down Bucky’s chest, reaching lower, hand running over the front of Bucky’s sweatpants. Steve’s hand stopped when he felt a hard heat pressing into his palm.

 

Bucky whimpered at the touch, pressing his hips forward. “Please…”

 

“Not yet.” Steve smirked wickedly, withdrawing his hand. “Get out of your pants. Let’s take a bath.”

 

Bucky’s face fell, disappointment and guilt clear on it. “’M sorry.” He muttered.

 

“Hey, none of that.” Steve kissed the corner of his mouth. “I didn’t say no. I said not yet, not in the middle of T’Challa’s garden. In the bath, or in our bed, now that’s a different story.”

 

“Really? You would… want to?”

 

“I always want you, Buck.” Steve led him into the hot water, sighing with relief as it hit his tense shoulder muscles.

 

Bucky cuddled against Steve’s side, his hair trailing in the water. “Dreamt about you.” He said softly. “When I was frozen.”

 

“Yeah? Good dreams?”

 

A smile ghosted over Bucky’s lips. “The best. You and me, together, back in Brooklyn. But like we are now. We had an apartment, though. It was nice. Normal.” His tone was wistful.

 

“Sounds nice.” Steve kissed Bucky’s temple. “We could, you know. Go back to Brooklyn. Once you’re cleared to leave Wakanda. Would you like that?”  
  
Bucky looked surprise. “Yeah. Yeah, I think I would.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentioned Natasha/Sharon in this chapter.

Natasha swept in the next morning, fresh off the Quinjet and barely ruffled. Her red hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and she was wearing well-fitted dark-wash jeans and a black sweater. She broke into a smile when she Steve coming towards her. “Steve! How are you? How is _he_?”

 

“Good. I’m good. He’s… getting better.”

 

Natasha nodded, her dark eyes soft with understanding. “It’s hard. I know. Don’t you leave him, Steve. He needs you now.”

  
“I know. He forgets things sometimes, gets a bit scrambled, but he hasn’t been violent.” Steve rubbed at his neck, hoping Natasha wouldn’t notice the faint bruise there. “Not when he’s awake, at least. He hits in his nightmares.”

 

“So do I. He doesn’t mean it, you know that, don’t you?” Her voice was full of tension, a sort of desperate grasping protectiveness.

 

“Of course I know that.” Steve assured her. “He hates it. He gets so wound up.”

 

“He’s scared to hurt you.” Natasha said, and something in her voice made it clear she spoke from experience.

 

“He couldn’t. I’m strong enough.”

 

“But Stevie, you’re _not_.” Neither of them had noticed Bucky coming up behind them, silent-footed and soft. His voice sounded wrenched from his chest, cracked with pain. “You don’t know what I can do. You haven’t seen… you couldn’t stop me. I could kill you.”

 

“But I have.” Natasha interrupted, looking at Bucky with kindness shining in her dark eyes, and something deeper, some memory stirring. “I’ve seen you at your worst. And you were nothing like now. You won’t hurt Steve. You never hurt me.”

 

Bucky hesitated, reaching out a trembling hand towards her. “Nata… little spider...”

“Yes.” She clasped his hand. “Yes, it’s me.”

 

“I thought I killed you.” His eyes shimmered with tears.

 

“No. You tried. But you didn’t.”

 

Steve watched them in confusion, the way their eyes met, the connection there. Intense, raw emotion flowing between them, he could see it. He shuddered, something raw and ugly and jealous coiling inside him. Bucky used to look at him like that, once. He bit his lip, hard enough to taste blood. It wasn’t fair of him to be jealous. Bucky had the right to a life, to other friends, to past connections. Steve suddenly felt the keen absence of more than sixty years of his life, a hole carved out of his timeline, a blank space shimmering dark icy blue. He felt chilled down to his bones, pure cold running down his spine.

 

“Steve?” Bucky was calling out to him, sounding like he came from a long way away. Like his voice was filtering through layers of ice. “Steve!” Warm hands, shaking him. He blinked hard, Bucky’s worried face coming into focus.

 

“Steve, are you okay?” Bucky’s breath was warm against his face, so close, panic in his eyes. “You went so white, and you weren’t answering me…”

 

“I… I think I’m fine.” He managed some facsimile of a reassuring smile. “Happens sometimes. Don’t worry about it, Buck.”

 

“I’m going to worry.” Bucky kissed the corner of Steve’s mouth. “Somebody’s gotta worry about you.”

 

Natasha stepped forward, joining them. “Have you been talking to Sam, Steve? Therapy-wise?”

 

“Yeah.” He bit his lip. “But it’s still hard to get over it. Everything. It’s too much sometimes.”

 

“I get it.” Natasha touched his shoulder gently. “It’s rough.” She turned to Bucky. “He’s fragile, remember that, James.”  


“I’m not…” Steve tried to protest, only to be hushed by both of the others simultaneously.

 

“Yeah, you are.” Bucky rested his hands on Steve’s hips. “Always have been. It’s okay.”

 

“You wanna look after me?”

 

“Yeah. Always used to, right? I can do it again.”

 

“Fine.” The tension ran out of Steve’s shoulders. “Like old times. I trust you.”

 

“There’s my good boy.” Bucky smiled at him, and kissed his cheek.

 

Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky, holding him close. “Is Tasha watching us?” He whispered in his ear, suddenly self-conscious.  
  
Bucky cast a glance over at Natasha. “Nope. She’s on the phone. To…” He listened to her soft murmuring for a second, trained senses picking out the words, “someone named Sharon. A girlfriend? Sounds romantic.”  
  
“What?” Steve broke into a smile. “Sharon? Tasha and Sharon? Are you sure?”

 

“Pretty sure.” Bucky shrugged. “You know her?”  
  
“Yeah. This is… this is great! They’ll be great for each other!”

 

“Glad she’s happy. She’s a good girl, Nata, you know.”   
  
“I know. She’s been a good friend to me. Did you know her… before?”   
  
“Yeah. Knew her. Trained her. I’ll tell you the story someday, maybe.”


End file.
